The Night Doctor
by sherlocked4eva
Summary: Mycroft Holmes comes to see John Watson in the middle of a hot summer's night for some medical assistance. Warning for mature content!


Hello dear reader. For anyone following my established ongoing fics, please be assured, new chapters are coming. This little one shot has been on my mind for ages so I've finally put it down. I always love reviews but would especially love comments on this story as I have been planning it in my mind for weeks. So please, even just a few words, let me know what you think.

warning! This story had adult sexual content. Please do not read if that may offend.

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John was dreaming. It was one of those strange, disorientating dreams where nothing quite made sense. He was in a garden, it looked familiar but he was sure he had never been there. Running around him was a small black and white cat, it's fur whipping in the wind and it's yellow eyes never leaving John. John was trying to keep his eyes focussed on the cat but it was moving too fast; the whole garden began to spin and tumble into a mess of colour and shapes in front of his eyes. He tried to regain focus but he could not. He now seemed to be falling and falling, down and down into the flurry of colour which was spinning around him...

John awoke with a start, jolting in his bed. The bizarre images of his dream instantly began to fade, to be replaced by the reality of his everyday surroundings. John looked around in relief to see his bedroom, exactly the same as it always was. There was no longer any garden, or racing cats, just a solid bed beneath him.

John shifted onto to his side in order to see the time illuminated for him on the digital alarm clock. 2.06am. He leaned over to reach the glass of water that he always kept by his bedside, and reflected on the discomfort of the night. London was in the grip of a neverending heatwave. For the past fortnight, the daily temperatures had been firmly resting in the high 20s, occasionally even hitting 30c. It had been nice for a few days, but by now the general consensus was that everybody was heartily sick of the heat, the daily grind of going to work made even harder by hour after hour of burning sun, leaving people red-faced, sweaty and extremely irritable. Worst of all had been the night when the temperature had stubbornly remained warm, making a decent sleep impossible. On this particular night, John could feel the oppressive, clammy, sticky air wrapped around his body like a blanket. His bedroom window was slightly ajar but it made no difference; the air outside was just as still.

John turned his attention to wondering what had awoken him so suddenly. Despite the oddness of his dream, he had the strangest feeling that he had heard a noise somewhere in the darkness of the silent flat. He listened carefully, straining his ears for the slightest sound which might have disturbed him. Nothing. He was just about to roll onto his side and try and go back to sleep when he heard it. Very faint, but the unmistakable sound of a careful, quiet footstep outside his Bedroom door.

John's body tensed up. Who was creeping around in the dark in the middle of the night? Sherlock? That seemed unlikely; John's bedroom was upstairs, Sherlock's was downstairs, next to both the kitchen and bathroom, the only two rooms anybody might need in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was Mrs Hudson, possibly she was unwell or needed their help. But then why would she be creeping so silently? Surely she would be knocking on his door, trying to get his attention.

John's heart suddenly leapt into his mouth as he saw the handle of his bedroom door begin to turn slowly downwards. Whoever this intruder was, they were about to enter his bedroom. John lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. He was not afraid, he was a soldier who had fought in a war. John did not lack courage, if he sensed danger he was prepared to tackle it. But he also knew that the element of surprise was vital. If this mysterious burglar was hoping to ransack his bedroom thinking he was asleep, they would get quite a shock when John sprang from his bed and pinned them to the ground.

The door opened. John clenched his fists, preparing for the moment to strike.

"John? Wake up. It's Mycroft".

John's eyes flew open. He turned his head to see if the smooth, clipped whisper did indeed belong to Mycroft. The room was dark, but there was no mistaking the tall, slim silhouette of Mycroft Holmes.

John thumped his head back down onto the pillow in relief, closing his eyes and breathing deeply in great pants. The sweat which had been prickling on his scalp broke and began to glisten on his forehead.

"Jesus Christ, Mycroft," John gasped when he had recovered himself, "what the hell were you trying to do? You scared the crap out of me!"

"Sorry," came Mycroft's simply response, although John was surprised to hear a note of sincerity in it.

"Did you not think to use the phone first? Or ring the bell?" Continued John, still not quite over the shock, "I'm not even going to ask how you got in here without a key. Must you always do everything so cloak and dagger?"

"As I said John, I am sorry," replied Mycroft quietly, "I would never normally disturb you at this time of night. But I've found myself in need of medical attention and knew this would be a discreet place to come".

Medical attention? Alarm bells sounded in John's head. He switched on the bedside light next to his head and looked at Mycroft properly.

"Oh God, Mycroft, you're hurt," exclaimed John.

Mycroft gave a smile which was more of a pained grimace. He still looked elegant as always but his clothes and appearance were also uncharacteristically disheveled. He was covered in various smears and patches of dust and dirt. There was visible bruising on his left temple and along his jawline, some dried blood sticking to his hair. John could make out splatters of blood beneath his pale shirt.

John leapt out of bed, his doctoring instincts kicking in. He took Mycroft by the elbow and guided him over to the bed, watching anxiously as Mycroft sat down gingerly, his face contorted in pain.

"What happened?" Asked John urgently.

"I'm sure you will appreciate that I cannot say too much," said Mycroft through gritted teeth, "I've been working on a top secret operation. A meeting tonight with one of our key contacts did not go quite to plan, as you can see. Normally I would have just treated myself, but I'm afraid that I sustained a number of kicks to my back and stomach. The pain does not feel normal, so I was wondering if I had broken anything, hence why I am here. I thought you would perhaps be kind enough to use those medical expertise of yours".

"Of course!" Said John, beginning to hunt around for his medical equipment.

"But quietly, please John," said Mycroft with a warning tone in his voice. "I don't want Sherlock to know about this. The situation is problematic at the moment, so if we could please keep it down?"

"Sure," said John with a shrug. Mycroft was not giving away a lot of information, but then he was used to this sort of behaviour. John pulled his desk chair over to the bed so that he could examine his patient. He quickly looked at the injuries on Mycroft's face, none of which seemed very serious, it was the ones to his body which concerned John more.

"Would you mind removing your shirt, Mycroft, so I can take a look?" John asked.

Mycroft did not answer, but carefully shrugged off his jacket and began to unbutton his waistcoat.

John went over to the sink in the room and busied himself scrubbing his hands in order to give Mycroft a little privacy. For some reason, John felt a hot wave of embarrassment starting to creep over him. He was being ridiculous, he was a doctor for goodness sake! He had seen and examined dozens of bodies throughout his career. Male and female, old and young, fat and thin. He had seen every part of the human body before, there was really no need to feel awkward. But this situation was not the surgery, and it did feel awkward. Mycroft always seems so cold and emotionless, John felt very odd knowing that in a moment he would see him undressed. John suspected that someone with Mycroft's tall thin frame would possess the sort of lanky pale body which always looked strangely pre-pubescent on a fully grown man.

"I'm ready," came Mycroft's voice suddenly intruding on John's thoughts.

John pulled on his latex gloves and turned around. As he lay his eyes on Mycroft, he felt his face flush red, the room suddenly feeling even hotter than it was before. Mycroft's body was, well, unexpectedly masculine was the only words that came to John's mind. His chest was broader than it appeared when clothed, his arms were strong with just the faintest outline of the muscles beneath the skin. His waist was narrow and his stomach firm, and his chest was covered in a surprisingly generous layer of hair. A line of hair ran from his chest down vertically along his stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. His entire torso glistened slightly with sweat, mingled in places in patches of blood. His small dark nipples were both firm and erect.

John tore his eyes away from Mycroft's chest to see that his patient was staring at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. John had been staring far too long, he mentally told himself to focus and stop being so unprofessional.

"Let's take a look at you then," said John in a high, cheery voice. Carrying a bowl of warm water and a cloth, he approached Mycroft who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Oh God, he was going to have to touch him now as well!

John's eyes were drawn to a particularly painful patch of bruising just below Mycroft's hip which was starting to go vivid shades of black and purple.

"I assume this is where you were kicked?" John asked, gently placing his hand over the injured area and pressing very carefully, feeling for signs of damage below.

Mycroft screwed up his eyes and winced. "My back as well," he managed to say.

John ran his hand from Mycroft's front, around the side and onto his lower back where another patch of bruises was clearly visible. These ones were lower on the body, only just visible above the waistband. John hesitated, knowing what he had to ask next, but wondering if there were a way of avoiding it.

"Sorry Mycroft," he said apologetically, "I hope you don't mind but I think I'll need you to slip your trousers off as well. Just so I can examine you properly. I can hardly see the area beneath your clothes".

For the first time Mycroft seemed to hesitate as well, before nodding and obediently beginning to unbutton his trousers. John did not move away this time, he seemed to be rooted to the spot. Mycroft stood up and allowed his trousers to drop silently to the floor, delicately stepping out of them, leaving him only in his underwear. John took in a breath and felt his stomach growing tight with tension as his eyes roamed over the taut buttocks which filled the close-cut black boxer shorts. Mycroft returned to his sitting position, causing John to notice the extremely visible shape of what filled the front of the underwear.

John started to douse the cloth in his hand with water and antiseptic, with unnecessary vigour. He had no idea what had come over him tonight. He could barely admit it to himself, but the slow unveiling of Mycroft's now almost naked body was arousing him at an alarming rate. John had never been particularly aroused by males; like many, he had curiously dabbled a little in his youth, but always found himself firmly attracted to women. But there was something about Mycroft...no, more something about this situation which was driving him crazy. Maybe it was the unexpected change of positions. Mycroft had always been such a untouchable, cold, emotionally repressed figure who John knew nothing about. Suddenly, tonight, all those barriers had disappeared and Mycroft was here, vulnerable and in pain, his naked flesh laid out for John to touch.

John tried to force himself to focus on the job in hand. He grabbed a towel from a nearby pile of clean laundry and wiped it over his face, the room still feeling unpleasantly sticky and warm.

"Would you be able to lie down? Face down? So I can examine your back. Let me know if it's uncomfortable".

Mycroft stretched out his body like a long, lean cat and lay himself face-down on John's bed, stifling a slight groan as his injured stomach made contact with the mattress. John decided to work quickly, the sooner this situation was over and Mycroft was fully dressed again, the better.

John methodically checked the bruises and cuts on Mycroft's back, dabbing away the smears of blood. He rinsed the cloth and pressed gently on the bruised patch at the very base of Mycroft's back, cleaning away the blood whilst also feeling for any signs of broken bones or torn muscles.

"I think you've been lucky," said John slowly as he continued to examine him, "you've got some nasty cuts and bruises but I don't think any serious damage. I'm just going to patch this area up for you, ok?"

Mycroft did not answer. John did not repeat himself, but continued to focus on the injured flesh in front of him. He cleaned the cut skin carefully, wiping very gently so as not to cause any pain. The injury was low on Mycroft's body, and John blushed as he quickly slipped his fingers beneath the underwear to ensure that the entire wound was clean, trying to ignore the fact that he was now caressing Mycroft's buttocks. He pressed clean, dry gauze onto the wound and applied surgical tape to the edges. This time he had no choice but to quickly slide the boxer shorts half way down over Mycroft's buttocks so he could tape down the lower edge of the dressing.

John was suddenly aware of the fact that Mycroft had become extremely still and quiet. He had not said a word or moved a muscle throughout the entire procedure. John completed the dressing and carefully re-positioned Mycroft's underwear so it was back in the correct place. He began to wonder if Mycroft had fallen asleep.

"Mycroft?" He said gently, "are you ok? Can you roll onto your back now so I can bandage your stomach?"

Mycroft's entire posture suddenly stiffened.

"No, that's fine thank you, John," came the muffled voice from the face which was still buried into a pillow, "I've taken up enough of your time. I really must get going".

John was puzzled, why was Mycroft suddenly keen to leave before he had finished?

"No, Mycroft, I haven't finished," John explained impatiently, "that injury on your stomach needs bandaging as well".

Mycroft lifted his head and shifted onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest in an attempt to get up from the bed.

"I'm absolutely fine now, thank you," he said, politely but sharply.

John was not having this, he was a doctor and determined to complete the job properly. He placed a firm hand on Mycroft's shoulder and pushed him back down, so that his back now lay flat on the bed. A look of alarm filled Mycroft's face.

"What's wrong?" Asked John, following the direction of Mycroft's eyes in confusion as to why he was so edgy. When John saw what Mycroft was concerned about, his own face blushed deepest scarlet. He wished the ground would swallow him up there and then.

With Mycroft lying flat on his back, it was visible to both men that the front of his boxer shorts were now bulging considerably, the fabric tented by the erect penis which was almost straining to escape. John had never been this close to another man's erection and he stared at it, partly in alarm and partly in admiration, the size and length of the organ clear to see even beneath the thin layer of cotton. Oh my God, he thought to himself, did my hands on his body really cause that!?

Mycroft was the first to break the embarrassing silence.

"Sorry, John," he muttered, unable to look him in the eye, "no need to get the wrong idea..."

"Oh goodness, Mycroft, don't apologise!" Exclaimed John shrilly, trying to smother his own awkwardness. The temperature in the room was approaching unbearable, John could feel sweat trickling down his back. "Please, do not feel embarrassed, it's just, err, natural isn't it? Nothing to be ashamed of".

John was not sure if his reassurance was making any difference, Mycroft still looked completely humiliated. John felt sorry for him, he wished there was something he could say to lighten the situation. He reluctantly returned to his bowl of warm water.

"Let's get that wound patched up, shall we?" He said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Don't be ridiculous John, you can hardly continue treating me in this state, can you?" Said Mycroft irritably.

"Well, try and do something about it then," John said, not thinking about the words before he said them.

Silence fell once again, both men only too aware of the implications of John's words. John could not help but gaze once again at the bulging underwear in front of him, a response which he had inadvertently provoked. Maybe it was only fair that he also be the one to deal with it?

John's body seemed to go into autopilot, acting on impulse, all sense of logic or reason evaporating into the heat of the night. It was almost as if he was watching himself from above as he saw his own hand extend and ever so gently caress Mycroft's stomach. He almost pulled away when to his alarm, the bulging underwear lurched slightly, Mycroft's entire body shuddering upon being touched. Wow, thought John, if he responds like that when I touch him there, how else can I make him react?

Their eyes met. Mycroft's were full of hungry need, his mouth slightly open as his breathing started to grow heavier.

"Don't do it unless you want to," he said hoarsely, sending shockwaves of arousal through John's body. God, he did want to; he wanted to so badly.

His hand shaking slightly, John ran his fingers down the line of hair on Mycroft's stomach, following the path it took below the waistband of his underwear. He dipped his fingers beneath the black cotton, feeling warmth and more coarse hair brushing against his fingertips. He continued downwards, through the warmth, until his fingers touched the thick, hard base of Mycroft's cock. He did not dare stop, in case his nerves deserted him; John allowed his fingers to extend along the firm, hot length before curling them around it, taking the member into his hand.

John had never felt so excited in his life, he looked down at Mycroft, still lying flat on the bed. The sight before him was so unbelievably arousing that John could feel his own cock beginning to grow hard beneath his pyjama shorts. Mycroft's head was tilted back, his eyes tightly shut, panting steadily in response to the hand which was stimulating him below. His hairy, sweaty chest was rising up and down, glistening in the dim light, his hands gripping the bed sheets beneath him. John could not believe that this solid, glacial man could be reduced to such a quivering, shuddering wreck with just a few gentle caresses to his erect cock. What other responses was John able to elicit from him?

Steadily and with a firm grip, John began to stroke Mycroft's erection, carefully drawing the skin back from the tip and allowing his hand to slide over the full length. Mycroft gasped and groaned and writhed, tiny droplet of pre-cum starting to leak over John's hand, lubricating the process and filling the air with the subtle scent of sex.

By now, John was also aroused beyond all reason, his own erection straining for attention. He had a sudden desire to see exactly what he was doing, to expose Mycroft's body and fully experience him. With his free hand, he pulled down the now damp black boxer shorts, shoving them down Mycroft's legs until the wearer used his feet to kick them away. Mycroft was completely naked now, John allowed his eyes to roam greedily over the body in front of him. Mycroft's penis was thicker and longer than his own, the length appearing even more impressive now that John could actually see it. Suddenly, touching was not enough. He wanted more, needed to take things further.

John was slightly unsure of how to proceed, but decided to try and see what happened. With some hesitation, he lowered his head, bringing Mycroft's erection in close proximity to his face. He extended his tongue and gave the tip of his cock a gentle but firm lick, quickly swirling his tongue around the head. The response was more than he could have hoped for; Mycroft's entire body lurched upwards and he actually leaned out to grip John's hip, digging his nails deep into his flesh.

"Please don't stop," Mycroft gasped. He seemed to have lost all control of himself. John was thrilled, what it was to arouse someone so absolutely.

Emboldened now, John began to caress Mycroft's cock with a series of firm licks and kisses, inhaling his intoxicating masculine scent and revelling in the firm, male flesh which rubbed against his cheeks. He licked and licked until the entire length was covered before taking Mycroft deep into his mouth, swallowing as he felt the tip of him hit the back of his throat.

John closed his eyes and focussed his attention entirely on the responses of the man lying below him. Every shudder, moan and pant encouraged him further, made him want to continue to bestow this intoxicating pleasure. He ran his hands over Mycroft's balls, cupping them carefully in his hands, before running his fingers upwards and raking them through the dense pubic hair. He allowed the erection to leave his mouth, releasing it from his lips with a gentle pop, returning his focus to kissing the tip until Mycroft's desperate whimpers forced him to stop teasing and returning to sucking him deep into his throat.

John was in heaven, surely nothing could be more blissful than this? He was mistaken. Without warning, Mycroft suddenly grabbed him around the waist and dragged him on top of his body, positioning his legs either side of his head. John barely had time to react before he felt the air on his exposed buttocks; Mycroft had removed his shorts in one swift movement, John's groin now positioned over his face. The tiny wave of self-consciousness which had swept over John was gone in a moment as he realised what Mycroft was doing; he was reciprocating the action, beginning to perform oral sex on John at the same time as receiving it.

John was forced to stop his own actions for a moment as he gasped, feeling a hot, wet mouth engulf his erection which had remained untended throughout this whole, strange set of events. He closed his eyes as Mycroft's fingers swept over his buttocks, pausing briefly to press the puckered opening between them. John tensed, however enjoyable their sexual activities had been that night, he was not ready for _that_. Possibly Mycroft sensed this was a step too far, his hands instead sweeping upwards over John's back and into his hair, gently pushing his head down encouragingly. John realised he had paused his actions for far too long and returned with enthusiasm, his head rising and falling as he continued to suck Mycroft's cock, driven on by the identical action being administered beneath him.

There was no way they could continue like this for long. John knew the end was close, and he sensed it moments before as Mycroft's thighs began to shake and his stomach tightened. With a stifled groan and a shudder, Mycroft ejaculated hard, John swallowing quickly as fluid filled his mouth, the sensation and taste sending him over the edge and bringing on his own orgasm. He felt himself come deep into Mycroft's throat, a lapping tongue eagerly sucking him clean.

John rolled off Mycroft and the two men lay next to each other, both panting and naked, the air hot and heavy with the smell of semen and sex. John leaned his head against Mycroft's legs, tiredness starting to overwhelm him. His hot body began to cool down, his damp penis softening in the night air.

"You really are a very good doctor," came a weary voice next to him, causing John to laugh vaguely before sleepiness completely engulfed him.

John awoke before the alarm clock went off, his naked body cool and clammy in the morning air. His entire body ached, his thighs in particular felt sore and stretched. His cock was not sore, but had the pleasant tingle of flesh which had been rigorously handled the night before. John was not surprised to see that Mycroft was gone, he had fully expected him to have disappeared before the night was over. John stared up at the ceiling and replayed the events of the night carefully in his memory, savouring every hot, sweaty, frantic moment. It had not quite sunk in, he could not truly believe it had actually happened.

John showered carefully and soaped his body liberally; although Mycroft had not specified, he doubted very much that either of them wanted Sherlock to find out about their encounter. John dressed slowly and doused himself generously in aftershave. He studied himself meticulously in the mirror. No lovebites, no stubble marks, no possibility of Mycroft's scent still on his body. His tracks were covered, all traces of the night were gone.

Feeling slightly nervous, John joined Sherlock for morning tea. Sherlock was engrossed in the morning newspaper.

"Busy day?" Sherlock enquired.

"Quite busy, yeah," replied John as he poured a hot cup of tea.

"Would you mind taking the rubbish out when you leave for work?" Asked Sherlock.

"No problem," said John, glancing around to locate the full bin bags.

"And could you buy milk on your way home?" Continued Sherlock.

"Yes, I could," said John.

"Oh and one more thing, John," said Sherlock, rustling the pages of his newspaper in an irritable fashion, "next time you want to screw my brother, do have the decency to not flaunt it so obviously at the breakfast table".


End file.
